Call of Duty: World at WarThe Novel
by FlamethrowerElite
Summary: The novelization of the best-selling video game, Call of Duty: World at War! NOTE: Strong language has been edited
1. Semper Fi

**This is my first story so go easy on me (I do not own Call of Duty or any of the characters).**

_Makin Atoll, South Pacific_

_August 17__th__, 1942_

_2200 hours_

The bright light of the lantern blinded Pvt. Miller temporarily as he awoke from unconsciousness. The first thing he saw when his eyes adjusted was the bloodied and disfigured face of his high school companion Pvt. Pyle. Both he and Pyle had been captured alive by a Japanese platoon in an ambush the previous evening.

The Japanese officer supervising the two prisoners knelt before Miller, and, in a mocking tone, said, "You think that just because you say nothing, you are strong?" Miller didn't answer, not even when the officer spat a wad of chewed-up tobacco right in his face.

The officer then walked over to Pyle and muttered something in his face inaudible to Miller. When he got up, Pyle looked over at Miller, a pleading expression plastered on what was left of his face

"Don't tell them anything," Pyle choked. "Please…"

No sooner had he said this than the Japanese officer held his head in a death grip. Miller watched in horror as the officer lit a cigarette on the lantern, forced Pyle's eye open, and extinguished the cigarette in it. The scream was not far behind. Pyle thrashed his head from side to side, what was left of his right eye splattering all over the wooden walls of the torture chamber.

At the officer's order, the Japanese sergeant-at-arms by his side pinned Pyle's head to a haystack, exposing his neck. Pyle was able to choke out one last "go to hell…" at the soldier before his jugular was sliced open, painting the wall crimson.

Miller started whimpering softly as the Japanese soldier strode toward him, blood-stained dagger in hand. _This is it,_ he thought. _Don't worry, Pyle old chum. We'll be together again soon._

The soldier jolted Miller's head back, exposing his neck as well. At about the time he expected the dagger to enter his throat, he heard the soldier grunt loudly, and fall to the dirt, dead.

Miller was wondering who pulled that off when he heard a voice he couldn't be happier to hear.

"Miller, you're okay. Thank God."

Miller recognized that voice all too well. It was Cpl. Roebuck, another close friend of Miller's.

"Don't worry about it, Miller," Roebuck said as he helped Miller to his feet and led him out of the torture chamber. "We're gonna make 'em pay for what they've done." It cheered Miller up a little.

Sgt. Tom Sullivan and the rest of the squad met them just outside on the beach. "Choose your weapon," Sullivan said, indicating a crate full of Japanese small arms. "And be ready to tear this damn place apart!" Miller helped himself to a Type 100 submachine gun and an American-made M1 Garand that was propped up against the crate.

"Roebuck, signal the strike team!"

Miller was wondering who exactly this strike team was when he heard explosions off in the distance. He didn't have time to give it a second thought before his cue to move forward came. Gunfire soon followed.

Miller dashed into the nearest hut on his right and rested his M1 on the windowsill, unloading his weapon at any muzzle flashes he could find in the distance. "This way! Follow me!" Sullivan shouted from outside. Miller could see Sullivan advancing up the middle. He followed close behind, taking advantage of all available cover.

"Take the catwalks!" Sullivan shouted, making a mad dash for the left, blasting through hut after hut with his M1897 Trench Gun. Miller followed suit, mopping up any last resistance with his Type 100.

O the other side there came a series of wooden catwalks and huts suspended on stilts over a lagoon. Miller advanced carefully behind Sullivan, opening up with his SMG on any Japanese dumb enough to poke their head out of a doorway or window.

By this time, the squad had already entered the stilted structure and was advancing forward. Just as Miller caught up to them, he got the sensation of getting smacked in the forehead by a hockey stick. He saw a bullet ricochet off his helmet before going dizzy.

Miller was only out for about 30 seconds. But after what seemed like an hour, he was finally able to sit up, grab his Type 100, find the enemy, and return fire.

Two marines advanced from behind cover but were immediately cut down by a Type 92 Heavy Machine Gun to the right. "Take out that MG!" Sullivan yelled to his sniper, Pvt. Denny.

"I can't get a clear shot, sir!"

"Then shoot through the damn wood!"

Miller had to admit, he never really liked that idea. It devoured ammo supply, and it had been at least two weeks since the last supply drop. But the Marine Corps was bred to NEVER question orders, especially not in such a situation as this.

Miller cocked his SMG and strafed the hut that the gunfire was coming from. Several screams and Japanese profanities shortly followed, and then nothing.

The squad advanced. After what seemed to Miller like a lifetime of shooting at every muzzle flash in sight, the boys happened to come across a well- concealed path slightly to the left of the Japanese camp. _It was probably concealed for a reason,_ Miller thought as the squad started on the trail.

"This place creeps me out," Roebuck whispered.

"How do you think the natives feel?" Sullivan countered. "Okay, everyone. Eyes peeled."

Roebuck was about to continue the conversation when his ankle caught on a lasso, pulling him into a tree. Simultaneously, the squad was ambushed by a platoon of banzais, whom the squad quickly wiped out, Roebuck firing his Thompson upside down from the tree branch.

"Uh, guys," he said. "Are you gonna get me down from here or beat the crap out of me until candy comes out?" Miller snorted and cut him loose.

"Pick up the pace, people," Sullivan called out to his men. "Division's promised us a support team on the adjacent beach. If we can-" Gunfire suddenly erupted from the aforementioned beach.

"Dammit!" Sullivan growled. "They've been spotted!"

Miller couldn't believe what sight greeted him on the other side of the hill. A massive Japanese platoon had engaged the support team in a shootout. Miller even counted two more Type 92 machine guns.

He went prone on the summit, aimed his Type 100, and fired randomly into the Japanese crowd. He only paused to break out his M1 Garand and snipe the machine gunner on the left. Roebuck had already taken care of the second one.

As soon as the gunfire stopped, Sullivan and his squad advanced down the hill, putting a bullet into every corpse to ensure that the entire platoon was dead. The Imperial Japanese Army had a nasty habit of ambushing their enemy by 'playing dead', and advancing on them from behind as soon as they passed. _That's not happening this time around, _Miller thought cheerfully as he rejoined the squad at the start of a second trail.

"Listen up," Sullivan said. "I want to get through the rest of this quick and clean. Do you hear me? Quick and clean!"

Miller raised an eyebrow. _I think that ship has sailed._

About halfway down the trail, the marines came to a clearing littered with Japanese corpses. Miller gulped, knowing what the Imperial army was famous for. He wasted no time putting a bullet into each skull. The Japanese, realizing their little trick didn't work, immediately came to life and engaged the Americans. The brawl couldn't have lasted any more than 45 seconds. There were no American casualties.

"Compound's just ahead," Sullivan said. "Keep moving!"

Reaching the compound, the first thing Miller saw was a pickup truck loaded down with full fuel barrels. Wasting no time, he grabbed the heaviest rock he could find and set it down on the accelerator. It careened right into the compound and exploded, silencing all resistance except for a small bunker to the left.

After the bunker had been surrounded and cleared out, Miller stole a demolition charge from the armory, armed it, planted it right next to the fuel reserves, and the squad dashed away to the extraction point, leaving a massive explosion and a burning outpost behind them.

**Thanks for reading. And just so you know, I did clear the dialogue of strong language.**


	2. Little Resistance

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I kinda procrastinated. Sorry.**

_White Beach, Peleliu Island_

_September 15, 1944_

_0830 hours_

"_It's time."_

"_Good luck, all of you."_

Pvt. Miller felt a nudge from Cpl. Roebuck. "This is it, Miller."

"Okay," Sgt. Sullivan shouted above the roar of the landing craft's engines. "Keep it together and we'll get through this in three days."

Just as the craft emerged from its dock, Miller heard two F4U Corsairs soar overhead towards the Japanese fortress. Roebuck smiled. "There they go. Bastards ain't gonna know what hit 'em."

Miller noticed the marine next to him, Pvt. Polonsky, sporting a rather nauseous expression. "You okay, Polonsky?" he asked. "You look like you're gonna hurl."

"You know what, Miller, why don't you just… hhuuuuuuuurrrrrllllllgggggghhhhhhhh!!!" He couldn't hold it in any longer, and before Miller knew it, he was covered in half-digested coffee, donuts, and fried eggs. Miller sighed and wiped some of the vomit off his combat gear._ Did I call that or what?!_

Sullivan continued his briefing. "Navy's been bombing the hell out of this island for two days straight. Miller, we run into trouble on that beach, I want you on that radio ordering air support. You follow?" Miller nodded.

"Don't think twice," Roebuck added.

"Roebuck," Sullivan barked. "I want you up the beach and at the treeline ASAP! You're on point as we move inland." Roebuck nodded as well.

Miller was about to say something when the landing craft to their right exploded, sending shrapnel in every direction. "What the hell?!" Polonsky shouted. "Was that one of ours?!"

"Dammit!" Sullivan growled. "Artillery on the east ridge!"

"Another landing craft has been hit!"

"Everyone, keep your heads down!" Sullivan yelled. "You hear me?"

"20 seconds!" the landing craft skipper called into the troop bay.

Those 20 seconds seemed like an eternity to Miller, but when the craft could go no further, Miller dove over the side along with the rest of the platoon and swam the rest of the way to shore.

Sullivan grabbed Miller's hand and dragged him to cover behind a large boulder. "I got you, Miller. You're still in one piece."

"Listen up, boys," Sullivan continued. "Our plan is in the toilet! We got heavy MG fire tearing up the beach!"

Miller wasted no time breaking out his radio. "Barrage salvo 14-E, Waco 8-1, Range 28, on the way!" he yelled into the mouthpiece. It wasn't long before two more F4U Corsairs streaked overhead, dropping their ordnance on the exact coordinates Miller had provided.

Sullivan and his squad advanced up the beach and jumped the fence. Upon reaching the other side, they saw the outcome of Miller's airstrike. The ground was blackened, trees were reduced to charred sticks, and an entire Japanese platoon wandered around aimlessly, as if in a trance. The marines went right to work putting a bullet into each of their heads.

Upon sighting a heavily fortified Japanese bunker, Miller called for another airstrike. "Target registered," the Corsair pilot said calmly, as if he were ordering dinner. "Firing for effect." Before long, the bunker was up in smoke, halting all MG fire.

After passing the burning bunker, the squad came upon a trench chock-full of banzai chargers. The wave was immediately cut down, but the one Japanese soldier who made it through the gunfire was skewered on the bayonet of Miller's M1 Garand. When Miller pulled the bayonet out, some of the soldier's guts were still dangling from it.

The trench eventually led to a tunnel. Miller leveled his bayonet, charged into the tunnel, and impaled the nearest Japanese soldier through the jugular. The squad advanced ahead of him, mopping up whatever resistance was left. Soon the tunnel reached its end, at which was a bamboo ladder. Miller guessed that they were directly below a bunker.

His hunch was right. When he reached the top of the ladder, he found himself in a heavily fortified pillbox that allowed a view of at least o kilometer in every direction. And coming from every direction was wave after massive wave of Japanese troops.

Miller didn't think twice. He manned one of the four Type 92 HMGs that were set up inside the bunker. Polonsky, Roebuck, and Sullivan manned the other three. Miller fired wildly into the advancing mob, making sure no one got to within ten feet of the bunker. It seemed like forever before the Japanese stopped coming.

Miller collapsed on the floor, wiping his sweat-drenched forehead off on his sleeve. Sullivan helped him to his feet and smiled. "Outstanding, Miller." Miller returned the smile. It wasn't often that he received congratulations from a superior.

Suddenly, a banzai charger burst through the back door and bayoneted Sullivan through the chest. After blasting the foe in the face with his sidearm, Miller knelt before his wounded sergeant.

"Sarge? SARGE!?" Miller cried. But it was already too late. Miller's shoulders shook violently as tears rolled down his cheeks. Sergeant Tom Sullivan, United States Marine Corps, was dead.


	3. Hard Landing

**I'm done procrastinating! I got started on this chapter as soon as I was done with chapter 2. Enjoy!**

_Peleliu Airfield_

_September 15, 1944_

_1300 hours_

Sullivan's death was still fresh in everyone's mind. No one said a word as the platoon hiked through the swamp.

Finally, Sgt. Roebuck broke the silence. "Arrangements are being made to take his body back to the states."

"Damn," Polonsky said. "I thought Sullivan would make it through for sure."

"We let our guard down, Polonsky," Roebuck replied. "We can't let it happen again."

"Hey, Sarge," Miller said. "Didn't you want this promotion?"

Roebuck sighed. "Yes, Miller. But I wanted to earn it, not replace a fallen friend."

"So…what now?" Polonsky asked.

"Tojo's got a tight hold on pretty much everything to the west. The direct route runs right into the Japanese guns. That's why we're taking the flank. It'll get us wet, but it won't get us killed. We'll regroup with the 5th when we're through this swamp. Everyone stay sharp."

It wasn't long before the platoon came upon a downed F4U Corsair, the wreckage being inspected by three marines. "poor bastard must have been shot down this morning," Polonsky remarked, remembering the Japanese AA guns that his squad had taken out a few hours ago. They hadn't done it in time to save this poor fellow, though.

Roebuck cleared his throat. "The fuselage is still smoking. Check for survivors."

"Hey, I think I see the problem," one of the marines who was inspecting the wreckage called out. "It appears to be snarled up on some kind of…uh-oh. GRENADES!!! HIT THE DECK!!!"

It was then that the smoking fuselage detonated, sending the three marines cartwheeling through the air. An ambush by Japanese banzai chargers in "ghillie suits" soon followed.

Miller shouldered the shiny new BAR he had helped himself to back at the base and unsheathed a large machete from his belt that he often used to cut through thick jungle foliage. One of the soldiers knocked Miller into the muddy water. The soldier stood over him, ready to skewer him where he lay. Miller, not allowing this to happen, grabbed the banzai's arm and swung his machete at his exposed neck, beheading the soldier instantly.

Miller followed the rest of the platoon through the swamp, gunning down another banzai charge with his BAR. Polonsky could hear gunfire in the distance towards their objective, and several _ping_ sounds that could have only come from the M1 Garand. "I think we're kinda late," he said. "Sounds like the 5th's kicking ass."

The platoon exited the swamp only to come upon a massive Japanese stronghold. Miller took advantage of whatever cover he could find, pausing occasionally to fire his BAR into the massive horde of Japanese troops. When he was close enough, he broke out his machete, jumped a wooden barricade, and impaled the Japanese soldier hunkered down behind it.

Miller then saw a bunker up ahead. Thinking it would provide the rest of the platoon with the perfect cover as they made their way through the compound; he motioned for a squad to follow him and then charged through the bunker, gutting two more Japanese with his trusty machete.

Miller exited the bunker on the other side to find an entire Japanese squad. As Arisakas and Type 100s aimed at his chest, Miller closed his eyes and awaited his reunion with Sgt. Sullivan.

However, when he opened his eyes, the soldiers seemed to have spontaneously combusted. Miller was about to question why to no one in particular, when a marine wielding an M2 flamethrower appeared at his side and gave him a cheesy salute. Miller didn't know the man, but nonetheless, he could have kissed him for saving his life.

After continuing through another bunker and lopping off the head of another Japanese, he emerged to face the business end of two Type 92 HMGs. But it wasn't the machine guns that got Miller's attention. The man pinned down behind a sand dune not ten feet away from the MGs was the same man with the flamethrower that had rescued Miller from the firing squad. Miller saw the marine dive out from behind his cover and ready his flamethrower, and take several bullets to the head. Blood and brains squirted out the back of his helmet as he crumpled to the ground.

Enraged, Miller charged forward, seized the flamethrower, and fried the two machine gunners. A marine behind him with a bazooka, blasted a hole in the side of the bunker, which Miller wasted no time climbing through, torching every Japanese soldier he came across on his way through.

Emerging on the other side, the platoon found themselves in a grassy clearing with a couple of palm trees on the far side. _The perfect place for an ambush,_ Miller thought. He shouldered his flamethrower, took out his BAR, and put three rounds into each palm tree, causing mortally wounded snipers to fall out. Miller then proceeded to fire wildly into the grass, forcing the banzai chargers to abandon their cover. They were quickly cut down by the rest of the platoon.

On the other side of the clearing was the bunker that guarded the airfield. Miller advanced on it, using whatever cover was available. As soon as he was on the bunker's doorstep, he strafed the place with his M2, sending at least eight Japanese soldiers to the floor in ashes.

The platoon made their way through the bunker, and on the other side was the airfield, which was heavily guarded by Japanese tanks. Much to Miller's relief, covering their left flank was an entire convoy of Sherman tanks and about 30 marines, each with a bazooka.

Miller sprinted towards the nearest supply drop, exchanging his flamethrower for a bazooka of his very own. Miller took aim at any silhouette of a Japanese tank he could find, which were easily recognizable compared to the Shermans. Miller must have disable at least four of the Jap tanks before Sgt. Roebuck gave the signal to move ahead.

Miller broke out his BAR and opened fire on any Japanese stupid enough to poke their head out until the resistance was no longer present. With the Japanese main defense gone, Miller unsheathed his machete and charged into the anti-aircraft bunker, slashing his way through the squad of Japanese until he came upon the four AA guns, putting a bazooka round in each one.

"Nice work, marines," Roebuck said, holding his head high. "Especially you, Miller. Let's give Major Gordon the good news."

"Uh, sir," Polonsky said. "We got a problem. Japanese reinforcements coming in north of the airfield." He seized the radio. "Requesting immediate air support!"

"Eyes forward, boys," Roebuck called out to the platoon. "We are holding this airfield!"

It wasn't long before the Japanese appeared from behind the hills, and Miller never thought he would see so many hostiles in one place. He wasted no time manning the Type 92 and opening fire into the advancing horde. The waves seemed to never end. Every shot Miller took seemed to age him a decade.

However, when the air support arrived, it absolutely blew Miller's mind. Anything that could have opposed the platoon was now obliterated. Relieved, Miller collapsed on the floor and kissed his machete.


	4. Vendetta

**Here it is!!! I got a lot of reviews asking for a chapter taking place on the eastern front. Wish granted!**

_Stalingrad, Russia_

_September 17__th__, 1942_

_0530 hours_

Pvt. Dimitri Petrenko's eyes struggled to adjust to the morning light. He could barely make out the muffled POPOPOPOPOP of German MP40s at a distance that he couldn't tell to save his life. When he could finally see, he froze in instant terror. Four German soldiers, each wielding an MP40, were practically right on top of him. The only thing Petrenko could do was play dead and wait for the firing squad to pass.

When they finally passed, Petrenko could hear a "pssst" noise coming from further up the sidewalk. Petrenko crawled through the pile of Russian corpses towards the noise, shoving his once-living comrades out of the way.

When Petrenko reached the source of the noise, he looked up to see his mentor, Sgt. Reznov leaning against a stone fence. He smiled down at Petrenko. "Good to see you made it out of that mess, comrade. Now come with me. I need your help. Do as I say, and together we will avenge this brutal massacre."

Followed by Petrenko, Reznov crawled towards a gap in the stone fence, propped up against which was a scoped Mosin-Nagant. Reznov sighed. "I'd operate it, but my wounded hand prevents me from doing so. Care to do the honors, comrade?" Petrenko seized the rifle and took aim at a German firing squad across the courtyard from them.

"Hold your fire," Reznov whispered harshly. "There is an airborne convoy that's supposed to pass over us. Wait until the planes are directly overhead before you fire. The noise from the engines will drown out your shot and their screams. But hopefully that won't be a problem."

The sound of massive engines was not far behind. Petrenko took this as his cue. He took aim at two Germans and an attack dog seated on a bench off to the right, squeezed the Mosin-Nagant's trigger, and smiled proudly as all three foes fell to the ground silently _Sgt. Reznov isn't the only one who can snipe, _he thought. He located three more soldiers and one more attack dog, and took them out in rapid succession without having to reload his rifle even once. _When this war is over,_ he thought, _Reznov and I will each take a sniper rifle down to the shooting rang. We will see who was born for this and who wasn't._

"Excellent work, comrade! Now follow me." Reznov obtained a discarded PPSh-41 and jumped the stone fence, sprinting into an abandoned pub. Petrenko followed close behind, not letting go of his sniper rifle.

Petrenko noticed a look of sadness on Reznov's face. "What's wrong, comrade?" he asked.

Reznov set his PPSh-41 down on a table, leaned against a wall, and spoke. "For days I have hid in the shadows like a rat. This place, this building, once echoed with conversations of friends and lovers. Now, it does no longer. Mark my words, comrade. One day, things will change. We shall take the fight to their land, their people, and their blood."

"I shall remain at your side every step of the way, Sergeant," Petrenko replied.

"This way," Reznov exited out the back door of the pub and stopped at the door to a large apartment building. "We can use this building to flank the Germans. Our main force will assemble at the-" He was about to continue when a bullet ricocheted off the pavement at Petrenko's feet. "SNIPER!" Reznov yelled. "Get inside!" Reznov kicked the door in, while Petrenko proceeded to dive through the window.

Petrenko started to giggle as he got to his feet. "What the hell is so funny?" Reznov demanded. "You were almost killed!"

"Do you think that my friends and family back home would believe me if I told them that it was my stunt double out here doing all the work?" Petrenko asked. It brought an appreciative chuckle from Reznov.

"They probably would, comrade. Now, we'll have to flush that sniper out before moving on." Petrenko and Reznov jogged upstairs and immediately saw where the shot had come from. "There," Reznov said. "The building with the banners." Petrenko could see the sniper in the corner window on the very top floor.

Petrenko didn't think twice. He aimed his sniper rifle squarely at the German's head, and pulled the trigger. The sniper fell forward and out the four-story window, spurting blood and brains the whole way down.

Reznov smiled. "Good hunting, comrade. But the patrols will have surely heard those shots. We need to get moving."

Petrenko grabbed a Walther P38 from the table and followed Reznov into the adjacent hallway, where a German patrol was passing just outside the windows. Petrenko was about to hide under one of the windows, when he heard one of the Germans shout, followed by MP40 rounds tearing through the window just inches from his face.

"Damn," Reznov growled. "They've found us. Hit the floor!" Petrenko did so just as German soldiers shattered the windows and torched the inside with Flammenwerfen-35s (the German flamethrower of World War II). Petrenko winced as the flames lapped at his back. He managed to blast one of the troopers in the face with his P38 before jumping to his feet and sprinting upstairs after Reznov.

Petrenko was about to dash around the corner when a burning support beam landed on top of him and pinned him to the sagging floor. He tried to get it off himself, but that only resulted in burning his hands. He prayed that Reznov would come back for him before the floor gave way and dumped him into the inferno below.

His prayer was soon answered. Reznov came back, and, even with his hand wounded already, he managed to lift the burning wooden beam off of Petrenko and help him to his feet. "You can thank me later, comrade. Right now, we have to move!"

"There's our way out!" cried Petrenko, running towards a hole in the wall. He jumped a story to the pavement below, followed shortly by Reznov.

The pair soon heard footsteps coming their way. Petrenko raised his P38, prepared for a shootout. Much to his relief, however, it was another Russian patrol. "Petrenko," one of the soldiers Sgt. Delenski cried. "We thought you were among the dead in the massacre at the square."

Reznov grinned. "He was, as was I. Among them, but not one of them."

Delenski nodded. "We're about to assault the communications post north of here."

"Good," Reznov replied. "Such a move will prevent the Germans from calling for help. Petrenko and I will provide cover from above. Wait until you hear the screams of dying Germans before you advance."

Petrenko followed Reznov to the second story of the warehouse on their right. From there, Petrenko could see a German patrol in a back alley, one of whom was sporting a Flammenwerfer 35.

"Aim for the flamethrower," Reznov ordered. "The explosion will incinerate anyone nearby." Petrenko raised his Mosin-Nagant, took the shot, and the entire alley went up in flames, invoking the "screams of dying Germans", which was Delenski's signal.

As Delenski's platoon advanced through the bombed-out alley, Petrenko spotted an MG42 gunner in the far window. He took aim, fired and watch a fountain of blood fly out the window into the alley. Simultaneously, a platoon of German reinforcements stormed Delenski's men in the alley. It was as if the machine gunner's death invoked a riot.

Petrenko felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. This whole sniper gig was harder that it looked. Reznov fired his PPSh-41 wildly into the crowd, not even bothering to aim, which, to Petrenko's surprise, was cutting down more Germans than he was.

"They are retreating!" Reznov declared. "Our friends are moving up. We must do the same." With that, he dashed up the stairs. Petrenko followed, pausing at the top to exchange his P38 for an MP40 and his scoped Mosin-Nagant for a PTRS-41 anti-armor sniper rifle. Petrenko had heard a lot of good things about this weapon, and was eager to find out if the stories were true. He was running low on Mosin-Nagant ammo, anyway.

No sooner did he pick up the MP40 than he realized just how good a call it was. A squad of ten to fifteen Germans came bursting through the door on the other end of the balcony. Between Petrenko's MP40 and Reznov's PPSh-41, the squad fell in less than 30 seconds.

Petrenko then broke out his PRS-41 and proceeded to take out German snipers, Panzerwerfer gunners, disable the Panzerwerfers themselves, and get rid of anything else that would threaten the Russian advance, all while patiently waiting for their target, General Heinrich Amsel to arrive.

"There he is," Reznov said, pointing behind one of the disabled Panzerwerfers, his voice full of hate. "Heinrich Amsel, slaughterer of thousands. Entire cities have burned to the ground at his command. He's a monster."

Petrenko rested his PTRS-41 on the balcony guardrail, and as soon as Amsel abandoned his cover, he took aim and fired, the high-caliber round ripping Amsel to pieces where he stood.

Reznov laughed. "The monster is dead! You are a true marksman, Petrenko."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now that they know where we are, they will be coming for us. We must go."

The two Russians took the stairwell. Reznov blasted every German he found advancing up the stairs, Petrenko following suit. "DIE, YOU SCUM-SUCKING ANIMALS!!!" Reznov roared as he charged down the stairs.

There was only one exit: a hole in the wall which led to a five-story drop into the river below. The two soldiers wasted no time jumping. Petrenko blacked out upon impact.

**Whew! That was a long chapter. I'm beat. Keep reviewing, now. That's what keeps my story going.**


	5. Their Land, Their Blood

**Sorry it took so long to update. I was busy with another story. And now, the Russian Red Army advances on Seelow Heights, Germany. What will become of our heroes Petrenko and Reznov? Read and find out! Either that or play the game. ^_^**

_Seelow Heights, Germany_

_April 18__th__, 1945_

_1400 hours_

Pvt. Dimitri Petrenko slowly woke from his daze to find himself in a boarded up room with three buff-looking German soldiers, all of whom were apparently unaware that he was awake. One was cleaning his MP40, and another was reclining on a cushioned sofa smoking a cigarette.

Petrenko's gaze drifted to his right, where he saw a fellow Russian soldier lying dead in a pool of his own blood, a Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle propped up against his corpse.. Petrenko slowly started to reach for the weapon when one of the Germans caught him, slammed him against the wall, and slapped him open-palmed across the face. It may have been only a slap, but to Petrenko it felt like a crowbar.

The soldier who had slapped him then drew his combat knife out of its sheath, and was about to stab one of Petrenko's eyes out, when an explosion suddenly blew a hole open in the wall, sending one German flying across the room. The other two were quickly gunned down by an assailant that Petrenko could barely see through the smoke. A closer look revealed the aged, battle-scarred face of Sgt. Reznov.

Reznov looked at Petrenko and smiled. "Once again, my friend, you cheat death."

Petrenko rose and dusted himself off. "The credit is yours, comrade Reznov. If you hadn't arrived when you did, I'd be no more."

Reznov cleared his throat. "Ahem, yes, well, our tanks are ready to smash this line, and-" He glanced over his shoulder. "Chernov, I'm not hearing gunshots! Why am I not hearing gunshots?"

Pvt. Chernov, a raw recruit, fresh out of Red Army boot camp, shook his head solemnly. "There is no point, Sergeant. They are already bleeding to death."

"Then maybe our friend," growled Reznov, handing Petrenko the Mosin-Nagant he had been reaching for earlier, "will help them bleed faster.

Petrenko, however, agreed with Chernov. It was against his ethical beliefs to take the life of an unarmed man, and this particular Mosin-Nagant didn't come with a lot of ammo. The three Germans were dead already, anyway.

The three Russians exited through the "door" that Reznov had created a couple minutes ago to find an entire company of German troops entrenched in a wheat field, engaging advancing Russians. On Reznov's signal, the platoon lit Molotov cocktails and threw them all at once into the crops, setting them ablaze instantly. One German soldier stumbled out of the wheat field, screaming, his face melting right off!

Reznov then spotted several Germans retreating into the forest. "Open fire!!" he yelled.

"Are we to shoot them in the back, sir?" Chernov cried over the gunfire.

"The back-the front-the head, whatever you wish! JUST SO LONG AS THEY ARE DEAD!!!"

Without a second thought, Petrenko leveled his rifle and started drilling bullets into the retreating Germans. He must have scored at least five confirmed kills before following Reznov into the forest. Reznov laughed. "See how things have changed, comrade? Now it is THEIR land, THEIR people, THEIR blood!! Hunt them down like the rats they are!"

After eliminating heavy resistance at a riverbank, the platoon came to a fork in the road. "After Stalingrad," Reznov said, "I know to trust your instincts, Petrenko. Left or right? You lead the way."

Petrenko made the split-second decision to go right. It turned out to be the right one. There was such little resistance along the trail that Petrenko and Reznov were able to take out most of them by themselves. Petrenko picked up a discarded FG42 at an abandoned German camp near the end of the trail. But the trenches ahead of the camp sported MG42 nests and were crawling with Germans!

Petrenko and Reznov wasted no time diving behind cover behind a fallen log as bullets ripped past their heads. From behind this cover, Petrenko lit a Molotov cocktail and tossed it into the German trenches. The flaming bottle hit a fuel stash and sent the entire trench complex up in flames. Whatever German soldiers remained standing were quickly cut down by Petrenko's FG42. Reznov chuckled. "These trenches shall be their grave!"

The platoon of Russians exited through another trench system. The Germans seemed to come at them one at a time, posing little threat, if any at all. At the end of these trenches was a farmhouse heavily guarded by three German Tiger tanks. Petrenko could see a Panzerschreck rocket launcher propped up against a crate in the front yard. One of the Tiger's machine guns ripped up the dirt at his heels as he bolted for the weapon, dropped his Mosin-Nagant for it, and inserted a rocket. When the three tanks came close enough, Petrenko put a rocket into each tank's side, disabling them all.

Reznov laughed again. "Their armor is no match for you, hero of Stalingrad!" Petrenko smiled. Reznov just seemed to have nothing but the highest praise for him today! A squad of German soldiers camped in the garage next to the farmhouse took Reznov's cheer as the cue to charge. They were immediately cut down by Petrenko's FG42.

"Follow me," Reznov yelled. "We will regroup at the barn!"

Once the platoon had regrouped outside the barn,, Reznov patted Petrenko affectionately on the shoulder. "Petrenko, I see time has not weakened your aim." He glanced over his shoulder at Chernov. "You could learn much from this man, Chernov!" Chernov simply shrugged.

"Break open the door," Reznov barked, ordering a Russian soldier to plant a charge on the barn door, and another to cover him. "The cowards may hide in shadows, but we will find them!"

The two soldiers had just reached the door and were preparing the charge, when an explosion blew both men to pieces, sending severed limbs, heads, and organs flying back towards the platoon. "CHYORT!" Reznov roared. "Another tank!" No sooner had the panzer appeared than Petrenko had reduced the behemoth to molten shrapnel via Panzerschreck.

As the platoon entered the barn, Petrenko, no longer in need of his Panzerschreck, dropped it for an MG42.

"Sergeant Reznov," inquired Chernov. "You seem to relish in the slaughter."

Reznov hung his head and gritted his teeth. "I have seen my friends and my family die horrible deaths before my very eyes at the hands of this vermin. They deserve everything they get, and more!" With that, he kicked open the barn's back door, revealing the rendezvous point with a convoy of T-34 tanks.

"Petrenko," Reznov said. "Why don't you hitch a ride on one of the tanks? You have earned the breather." He turned to face Chernov. "You, however, have not. You will have to walk."

Petrenko was enjoying Reznov's "special treatment" about up to here. Now it was starting to get annoying. Petrenko cleared his throat. "Ahem, comrade Reznov?"

"Yes, Petrenko?"

"With all due respect, I don't think you give Chernov enough credit. He has fought just as hard for the Motherland as I have, if not harder. I appreciate you offer to hitch a ride, but I think I'll walk for the time being."

Reznov sighed. "As you wish."

Petrenko spent the next 20 minutes hiking behind the nearest T-34, side by side with Chernov, making idle conversation with him about their friends, family, and girlfriends back home. Suddenly, the tank convoy came to an abrupt halt at a German roadblock, causing Petrenko to walk headlong into the tank's rear armor. Chernov had to stifle a snicker.

The humorous moment didn't last long, though. Further ahead in the convoy, a T-34 took a direct hit from a faraway Panzerschreck round, shrapnel fountaining into the air. Petrenko, Reznov, and Chernov all had to scatter for cover to avoid being cut to pieces. Other soldiers, however, weren't so lucky. Each one appeared to be going through a giant garbage disposal as they got diced by flying shrapnel.

The surviving tanks turned hard left. Petrenko started to panic. "Comrade Reznov, why is our armor abandoning us?!"

"They are not, comrade. They are simply finding another way around the roadblock. But we will have to fight our way through." Reznov drew a small whistle from his coat and blew hard.

"This is it, men! CHARGE!!!"

At once, the Russian soldiers fixed bayonets, drew swords, and charged into the German compound. Petrenko eagerly joined in the advance, firing his MG42 wildly into the mass of Germans. On a couple of occasions, he had even concentrated his MG fire on a couple German personnel trucks, successfully blowing both targets and their passengers to pieces.

"They're falling back!" cried Petrenko.

"It matters not where they choose to die," Reznov replied. "Hunt them down! No mercy was shown to our comrades in Stalingrad, and NONE SHALL BE SHOWN HERE!!!"

After what seemed to Petrenko like an eternity of fighting, the smoke finally cleared. Reznov stood tall among the carnage. "Victory is at hand, comrades! These German cowards desert their posts, but they have nowhere left to run!! He laughed heartily. "See how they scatter like the cockroaches they are!"

Reznov then climbed on top of a T-34 tank and raised his PPSh-41 high above his head. "From this moment on, comrades, every step we take brings us closer to Berlin! Closer to victory! Closer to revenge!"

The Russian troops erupted in cheers.

**Wow! This chapter took up two full Microsoft Word pages! It's the longest chapter I've ever written for any story!**

**And by the way, in the game, you play as Petrenko. You're the one receiving endless praise from Sgt. Reznov! Now how cool is that?!**

**NOTE: I'm not quite sure what "Chyort" means. I assume it's some kind of Russian profanity.**


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